


No one was there for him

by Dangowoman



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Cutting, Gen, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Suicidal Luke, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-31
Updated: 2015-08-31
Packaged: 2018-04-18 09:45:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4701455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dangowoman/pseuds/Dangowoman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Luke has been feeling like crap lately but none of his band mates notice. He gets angry and upset and lets his self-destructive thoughts take over.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No one was there for him

**Author's Note:**

> TRIGGER WARNING, self-harm scene and negative thoughts.
> 
> This is really sad but I felt sad and decided to write this.

Luke, Calum, Michael, and Ashton sit round the coffee table with pizza slices in hand and argue about some stupid topic halfheartedly. The TV plays a soccer game in the background, ignored by everyone, creating noise. Michael reaches over Luke to dab his pizza-oil covered finger against Calum's cheek. Calum laughs and pushes Michael away, who also laughs.

"Ewwww, Michael, you're disgusting", shrieks Calum and aggressively wipes at his cheek with his sweater sleeve. Michael and Ashton erupt with laughter all over again at this and Luke can't help but feel a bit left out despite being seated in the middle of the boys. He laughs along lightly, half hoping that one of them will notice the fake act and ask him what's wrong. No one does though and Luke entertains himself by staring blankly at the TV which is now playing some commercial. Luke tries to pay attention to the words being said, but slowly, his focus fades. Without even realizing it, Luke is lost in his head, in his own thoughts. His mind replays the couple past months: the cutting, the cold shoulder he seemed to be getting from his band-mates, his poisonous thoughts, the sadness that has planted itself in Luke's heart. He hasn't been himself these past couple of months and he's disappointed and a bit angry that none of the other boys has noticed. It was quite easy to notice too, there were a lot of things that changed about Luke's behavior. He would go to sleep earlier, his smile didn't quite reach his eyes, he didn't join the other guys in simple activities like watching a movie or eating dinner. The lacking support and concern from the people Luke considers his brothers has only caused him to feel more insecure. He just wishes someone would notice. He is forced to snap out of his train of thought when Ashton swings a pillow at his face.

"Sorry Luke, didn't mean to hit you!", Ashton apologizes quickly and then swings the pillow at Calum, who had been his original target. He's not sure he's just being over dramatic, but Luke can feel tears swelling up in his eyes and he fights the urge to not just burst out crying right then and there with everything he's got. Because that's just it. No one _means_ to hurt Luke, and yet they end up doing just that. Then, they throw some halfhearted apology at him and expect him to be alright. They don't take the time to look closely at Luke and check if he's really okay. And Luke hated that, being undermined and ignored, exactly what the guys are doing to him  right now. He opens his eyes and stands up, facing Ashton.

"You should watch what you're doing", he seethes through gritted teeth, more than angry now.

"Whoa, relax mate! It's just a pillow, it's not that big a deal", replies Ashton with knitted eyebrows.

"No! It's a big deal to me, Ashton!", shrieks Luke, "apologize!".

"Hey, don't be a wuss. We were just trying to have some fun! If you don't like it, you can just leave, Luke." Ashton says, waving in the general direction of the door. Luke is mad and upset and tears cloud his vision as he shouts "Fine!" and runs through the front door.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When Luke gets home, he heads straight to his room. With loud sobs, he throws himself onto his bed. He can't believe Ashton was so insensitive, especially when he saw Luke on the verge of crying. He can't believe Michael and Calum didn't defend him, didn't run after him to make sure he was okay. Loud sobs break through his body and he shivers on the bed. Hot tears roll angrily down his cheeks and soak into the sweater that he is wearing. "Why don't they care about me?", "what did I do wrong?", "what did I do to deserve this?". The bad thing about Luke asking himself these questions is that his stupid brain always has to come up with answers. "Because you're useless", "you tried to fit in but they don't want you", "you're a fuck up and will always be one". And of course, Luke already knows all this. He just _knows_ that the boys hate him. He _knows_ that he'll never be good at anything he does. He _knows_ that Ashton, Michael, and Calum are so much more attractive, talented, funnier than him. So how can Luke hate them when they've done nothing wrong? It's Luke that's always trying to squeeze himself into their circle. It's Luke who ruins the band with his ugly voice. It's Luke that's not good enough, pretty enough, talented enough. And suddenly, he's not mad at them anymore, he's mad at himself. Mad at himself because he's a fucking bother, dead weight for the other boys. It would be so much better if Luke dies: they could find a better player to replace him. He won't be stupid like Luke, he'll be smart and talented and Luke won't drag anyone down anymore. Luke's heart hurts, it physically hurts. With every beat, it sends a wave of numbing pain through his veins. It spreads all the way to his fingertips, making them buzz in pain. This brutal attack on his body leaves Luke shivering on the bed even though his body is actually flaming up. His mouth is open, letting out loud, strangled sobs that he doesn't bother to contain. His eyes are so tightly screwed shut that his eyelids wrinkle but hot tears still fall from them, sliding down his cheeks into his gaping mouth. His body is somewhat curled in on itself as his lies on his left side, his left arm lying beside his body, his right hand tightly clutching his heart through the scrunched up fabric of his shirt, willing the pain to go away. He trembles but is frozen in place at the same time, as if his body can't decide whether to go haywire or completely shut down. The broken sobs and bellows that tear his voice apart and are ripped from his throat with great power leave Luke completely broken. He doesn't know that the boys actually do care. He doesn't know that if they saw him in this wrecked and panicked state, they would all hold him until the pain went away. No, all he could do was think " _i'muselessi'muselessi'museless"_ and let himself drown in pain and self-hatred on his bed. When he finally calmed down, he just lay there for a couple of minutes. Breathing is deeply through his mouth which was still agape, drooling a bit. His cheeks wet and blotchy, body still frozen in an uncomfortable crippled position, sweating and heaving greatly. Closing his mouth, Luke forces his tired muscles to push himself up on the bed. He's shaking because that panic attack took a lot out of him, leaving him feeling weak and fatigued. He slowly steps off the bed and stumble-walks to the full-length mirror a couple of feet away. When he finally get in front of it, he lets his muscles go weak and falls to the floor with a loud 'thud!'. He just sits there for a while, but eventually gathers the energy to open his eyes and looks up into the mirror. He wipes the drool from his mouth, "disgusting", he thinks. He wipes the tears from his eyes, "weak", he thinks. He pushes his hair back from his sweat-covered forehead, "not worth it", he thinks. He takes a minute to take in his wrecked appearance. How his eyelids droop low on his bloodshot eyes, how his face looks pale and sunken in, how his mouth turns down into an unpleasant frown. He's so stupid to think that they even loved him. Luke thinks it's his fault though. How could they? Luke is stupid, ugly, too skinny, not as good as them, emo, loser, freak, useless. Who would want someone like _him_ to stay? Who would want someone like Luke in their band, around them? And he sits there for hours and hates himself for his sole existence. It's nearly 3:00 am now and Luke sits in front of the mirror, in complete darkness. He hadn't bothered to flick on a lamp when he first came in but his eyes had adjusted to the dark by now and stayed fixed on his reflection. He'd been staring so long that his vision was becoming distorted. His mind was playing tricks on him, twisting his reflection into obscure shapes, as if mocking him, twisting his body into the ugly being that he saw inside of it. Luke slowly turns his head toward the bathroom door, gathering strength to get up and walk over to it. He wills his sore muscles to lift him off of the floor, the stretch making his body ache after sitting in one position for such a long time. In this zombified state, Luke slowly makes his way to the bathroom. His feet gently pad on the wooden panels of the floor, cool against his hot skin. He takes this time to contemplate what he's about to do. Surely, he's being over dramatic. Surely, there's a better solution than this, right? He lists all the options in his head. Luke could tell his band mates how he really feels, but he's already established in his mind that they wouldn't care about a word he's got to say. He could talk to a therapist but that thought scares and panics Luke at the same time. Sitting in an enclosed room with a stranger, admitting that he has a problem, opening up to someone he doesn't know and trust and suffer through the judgment of his friends is too embarrassing for Luke. So, he opts to last option he can come up with: killing himself. Tears build up in his eyes and he doesn't have the energy to stop them as they spill over.

"You're so weak", he starts talking to himself out loud. "You don't deserve to cry. You pathetic idiot", he spits with venom in every word, making him cry even more.

He finally gets to the bathroom and ushers the door open, flicking on the light before heading to the drawers under the sink. He lifts the packs of tissues to reveal a box of matches. He carefully takes it out and rattles the box. He sighs in relief when the object inside clatters. "It's there", he thinks. Luke opens the box and lets his fingers graze over the cool metal, then takes it out the box. Holding it up to the ceiling, watching the light dance on the razor, the deadly object appearing beautiful when it reflects like that. Luke sits down on the cold, tiled floor and rests the razor on his wrist. Before his mind can catch up, he's sliding the sharp metal across and watching the beads of crimson blood pool atop of his wrist, wincing from the pain that follows. Luke pauses as more tears rush to his eyes and cloud his vision. Is he really doing this? Is he really going to take his life? He feels the little pang of guilt in his heart every time he adds more cuts to his wrists. He can't help the small part of him that still thinks about what his friends will feel when they find out he's dead. Maybe, just maybe, they don't want him to. Luke pushes these thoughts away and instead reminds himself why he's doing this in the first place. He's doing this because he's not worth caring. He doesn't deserve the life he's been given nor any love from his friends, they'll get over him. Loud sobs rake through his body and he can't stand to live with this pain and burdening thoughts a second longer. Bringing the razor down more harshly, Luke manages to cut even deeper and keeps doing it. It doesn't take long for his vision to go black and for his lifeless body to fall to the ground soon after. The razor falls from his hands, lying on the ground next to him. No one was there for him.


End file.
